The Elephant Whisperer: My Life With the Herd in the African Wild by Lawrence Anthony (best motivational books .TXT) 📗

‘Well, I think the elephants are now settled enough for us to bring back visitors. But we don’t have lions yet, and tourists will want to see big cats.’

Françoise looked at me, eyes shimmering with enthusiasm. ‘You know what? I will cook to replace the lions. God knows Zululand needs a place with quality food.’

She came from a family of superb cooks and had been studying on and off under top French chefs in Paris. Suddenly it all clicked into place.

‘You’re right,’ I said, feeling as though a weight had been yanked off my shoulders. ‘A small luxury lodge with a gourmet restaurant would give us an edge. It may just work.’

I gave her a hug. ‘Let’s do it.’

The thrill of it seized the moment and I went off and came back with a bottle of champagne that we had kept for a special occasion.

‘I am afraid I can’t stay,’ said the accountant nervously looking at his watch. ‘I must get home.’

Without a word I followed him out to his car, shot a hole in his tyre with my 9-mm pistol, and said to him, ‘We will make up a bed for you. We don’t have a lot of visitors and unfortunately you have an unexpected puncture. Tonight we are celebrating.’

The poor man sat down and resigned to his fate and took the beer I offered him.

‘The champagne’s for Françoise.’

She deserved it. Françoise took over the project and before we knew it a beautiful lodge about two miles from our house started to materialize, rustic yet opulent and set in a grove of mature tambotie, maula and acacia trees onthe banks of the Nseleni River. The new Thula Thula was being born. By the end of the year, two years after moving there, our boutique lodge was up and running.

There are two types of game reserve lodges in Africa: those owned by big corporations; and those owned by conservationists who need the lodge so they can earn income to continue their conservation work. We were certainly amongst the latter. But in any event, Françoise proved to be spectacularly right and our lodge, staffed entirely with local Zulus, was soon getting regular bookings. With plenty of hard work and a bit of luck we could be all right.

chapter twenty-one

David looked worried. ‘Notice how quiet everything is?’

We were sitting on the lawn watching the tree-studded hills of Thula Thula shimmering like a mirage in the early morning thermals. I took a swig of coffee. ‘No. Why?’

‘It’s the elephants,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone to ground … we can’t find them anywhere. If we hadn’t checked the fences, I would’ve sworn they’ve broken out.’

‘Nah. They’re happy here. Those breakout days are gone.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. But where are they? We’re not even seeing signs of them on game drives.’

I pondered this for a while. The herd was now so calm that we had been able to take reserve guests up reasonably close, providing excited nature lovers with excellent photo opportunities.

Then an image of Nana suddenly flashed through my mind, mirroring the last time I had seen her when she had stretched out her trunk into the Landy. Her belly was as swollen as a barrel … of course, she must have gone deep into the bush to give birth. As we didn’t know the date of conception, we weren’t sure exactly when she was due.

I loaded up the Land Rover with a day’s supplies and set off, searching as far into the most impenetrable parts of Thula Thula’s wilderness as I could get. But there were no fresh signs of them whatsoever. I looked in all the lush feeding areas and their favourite hidey holes, but again nota trace of them. The largest land mammals had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Well, not quite. Finally, in the early afternoon I noticed some fresh tracks in an area we call Zulu Graves, a 200-year-old burial ground dating back to the days of King Shaka, founder of the Zulu nation.

‘Coooome, Nana!’ I called out, singing the words in the timbre they were now used to. ‘Coooome, my babbas …’ They always seemed to respond to the Zulu word for ‘babies’. In this case, I didn’t realize how prophetic my call was.

Suddenly the bush started moving, alive with the unmistakable sound of elephants, and the mixture of thrill, fear and affinity I experienced every time I was in their presence coursed through my veins. I called out again, high on anticipation.

‘Coooome, babbas?’

Then I saw her. She was standing well off the rough dirt road, watching me but reluctant to advance further. ‘That’s strange,’ I thought, ‘she normally comes.’

She dithered for some time, neither coming forward nor retreating into the bush, almost as if she was uncertain of what to do next. Then I saw why. Standing next to her was a perfectly formed miniature elephant, about two-and-a-half feet high – perhaps a few days old. As I had suspected, she had just given birth. I was looking at the first elephant to be born in our area for over a hundred years.

Not wanting to intrude I stood there with my heart pounding, wishing I had brought a camera. Then she took a few steps forward, then a few more, and finally started walking slowly towards me with the baby tottering alongside on tiny unsteady feet, its little trunk bobbing like a piece of elastic.

She was still about thirty yards away when suddenly Frankie appeared, ears flared. It was a stark signal for me toback off. I jumped into the Land Rover, reversed to create a safe zone, then switched off and watched.

Gradually the rest of the herd emerged from the bush, eyeing me warily while milling around Nana and the baby.

I watched enthralled as the tactile creatures continually touched and caressed the little one. Even Mnumzane was partially involved, standing at the periphery as close as he was allowed, watching the goings on.

Then Nana, who had been facing me, started walking up the road. I quickly got in,